Fly

Prologue

          "Careful, Salem," Marcus acknowledged his knuckles presenting a white hue upon the skinny joints that constructed his hands; all ten fingers on the edges of his leather car seat. There was a mixture of rushing wind that forced itself through the open window; making it's own current around the shell of the car, and then the version of the monotone stereo that laid out rough melodies. Only hints of amusement exited Salem's mouth by his friend's nervousness, "Sit back and relax, Marc. We're only going 65, no big deal." Salem responded, his voice loud against the wind and stereo. At their prime, the two boys had just graduated high school that year, now looking forward to the thrills of college life. Salem had a pair of strict, not to mention overprotective, parents. His father, in which was a pastor for the local town church, and then his mother, a therapist for marriage counseling. Hooray, hooray. You can only imagine how free he felt with no one keeping a hand on his shoulder for the past 18 years. "Well, knowing it's you behind the wheel, that is way too fast." Marcus retorted. Although the two boys had been best friends since elementary school, the two had always had their differences. For example, Salem being reckless and Marcus always being that person that held his shoulder. Ironic, huh?
   Salem's golden locks were pulled back with grease, whilst the wind protested, trying to yank strands from their confinement. "Chill out, will ya?" The boy replied, gesturing one hand off the wheel and waving it in the aggressive air. "Say, Marc, could you snatch me a pack from the glove compartment?" Salem added, only to hesitantly stop at a red light and shortly after dart to the left without a turning signal. "Say, Salem," Marcus mimicked, his voice over dramatically rising, even if Salem possessed a deeper vocal range. "You should really quit the smoking gig." Grasping upon his seat, Marcus yanked at the lever that would unlock the compartment; locked. "What are you? My mother? Now hurry with the smokes." Salem muttered, his voice barely audible underneath the background noise that surrounded them. "Shut up, it's locked." Marcus heard, responding with the roll of his eyes. "No shit," Salem remarked, his curiosity rolling within his cranium. "Damn, my parents must have found my stash and locked the compartment." Coming to a two-lane road, Salem steadied the steering wheel and pulled his right arm across the center console to reach the glove compartment. "Dude, it's locked. Don't take your-,"
"Chill," Salem cut off, his eyes glancing off the road and looking to the compartment. Giving a yank with his middle and index finger, the lever locked and didn't give way.
   "Dude, watch out-!" Cut off again, Marcus was interrupted by a more serious matter. The inside of the automobile was engulfed in white light, the headlights of an semi-truck came into full view for Salem and Marcus. Drifting, the front of the car had veered into the left lane, slamming into the semi-truck straight on.
May 23rd, 1957 was the death of Salem Elliston and Marcus Fulger. May they rest in peace, and may Salem find his true fate.